


Hunger Of The Pine

by heterochromania



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Levi and Mikasa are detectives, The Killing AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heterochromania/pseuds/heterochromania





	1. Waiting Game

Mikasa awoke in a state of confusion and mild fever, her limbs tangled in her white sheets and her skin damp with cold sweat. In her dreams, she had been running.  
_It was 5:47 AM_. Too late to roll over and go back to sleep, since her alarm was set for 5:50. Mikasa reluctantly lurched to her feet. Lately, she had been waking up just before her alarm was set to go off, leaving her with a feeling of unexplainable disquiet. She shuffled to the bathroom and flicked on the light, trying to ignore the fuzzy pounding in her head. Mikasa grimaced at her own reflection. She was paler than usual, a feat she hadn’t thought possible, and she had deep circles under her eyes, like she had been punched twice, once in each eye. Mikasa ran her hands through her hair twice, as was her habit. Her hair was soft, and naturally straight- it was easier to finger-comb it. Besides, Mikasa couldn’t be bothered to buy a hairbrush. Her fingers brushed against the skin of her neck, which was unpleasantly clammy and hot. Mikasa frowned. Today was not a day to be sick.  
It was her first day.  
_You can’t call in sick on your first fucking day_. She thought angrily. Mikasa felt her forehead with the back of her hand. Her skin was prickling and hot to the touch. She definitely had a fever. Mikasa rubbed her eyes sleepily. There was nothing to do but choke down some Ibuprofen and pray that her physical health wasn’t an omen for the day to come. Mikasa decided on a quick, cold shower before breakfast, which consisted of cold tea with lemon and a slice of toast, plain, because she had forgotten to buy peanut butter again. She hoped that wasn’t a bad omen, too.  
It was almost 7 AM when Mikasa finally left her apartment, after spending a good chunk of time languishing on the floor of her closet, surrounded by crumpled shirts that she had pulled down from their hangers and subsequently rejected. In the end, she had chosen a subdued gray sweater that was slightly oversized, even on her tall frame, a comfortable pair of blue jeans, hiking boots, and her favorite navy windbreaker. Mikasa never thought she would miss her old police uniform, especially since she had only worn it for a year, but its starched familiarity was much simpler than trying to guess at what a homicide detective should wear.  
On her way out, Mikasa picked up the newspaper that was laying in her neighbors yard, still covered in dew. (Mrs. Brown rarely left her house, yet still had her paper delivered.)

It was still somewhat dark when Mikasa stopped at the nearest corner store to pick up some Tylenol, a pack of Newport cigarettes, and, because her tongue felt dry, a particularly tempting bottle of smartwater.  
In the parking lot of her new precinct, she downed two Tylenols and nearly half of her water. It was ice-cold against her teeth, a horrible, metallic sensation that made her shiver. Mikasa glanced around at the mostly empty parking lot. It was quiet.  
She needed a cigarette.  
The watch on her wrist read 7:40, as did the analog display of her car radio. Her first day didn’t _officially_ start until 8. With a heavy sigh, Mikasa switched the engine off and emerged from the warmth of her car into the balmy Seattle morning. Despite the chill that was biting at her fingers, Mikasa had never enjoyed a cigarette more. The burning in her lungs was familiar and welcome, distracting her from nervous thoughts. It was only after her second that she remembered, with a small twinge of guilt, that she had promised to quit. Nevertheless, she stayed out in the cold a little while longer, fiddling with the zipper of her windbreaker as the cigarette between her lips grew shorter.  
With her nerves calmed, Mikasa stamped out her second, unfinished cigarette, and headed inside. It was a lot like her old precinct, when she had been on beat patrol. Same worn tile on the floor, same peeling paint on the walls, same coffee-sweat-and-old-leather smell.  
Mikasa found it comforting, the sameness. It was quiet, empty, and dark. Mikasa slipped past the reception area and into the main squad room. It was empty too, apart from a lone uniformed officer at a desk, cradling an old phone receiver against his cheek while he wrote on a loose piece of paper. The squad room was sparse; a cluster of desks pushed together, their surfaces strewn with papers and empty Styrofoam coffee cups. Small offices with names she didn’t recognize stenciled on the doors flanked the main room, each of their doors shut, lights turned off. Only one, the largest, had it’s door thrown open. Mikasa glanced at the officer on the phone again. He showed no sign of acknowledging her presence.

“You’re early.”  
Mikasa whirled around, startled.  
“You _are_ Mikasa Ackerman?” asked the tall male who had suddenly appeared behind her.  
“I am.” Mikasa nodded.  
“Good. Welcome to homicide.” Said the man, spreading his arms wide, like the ringleader at a circus. “I’m Lieutenant Kaney,” he added, dropping his arms to his side. He was tall, gaunt, and balding, but somehow still imposing. He smelled like he had soaked his clothing in cheap cologne. Mikasa could detect the strong smell from almost five feet away. _His wife probably thinks he quit smoking_ , Mikasa thought. It was a tactic she had used herself, although she had been a teenager when she had doused herself in cheap, off-brand perfume. Now, at twenty-two, she couldn’t stand to wear any perfume, or use any scented soaps.  
“It doesn’t look like much-I mean, no ones fucking here on time, as usual,” he continued. His voice, in contrast to his appearance, was deep and graveled, like that of a favorite grandfather, or the narrator of a Civil War television special.  
“…But we got a good team here, even with Ral gone on maternity and _the runt_ retiring. And I’ve heard good things about you, Ackerman.”  
Mikasa’s old lieutenant had called her _mercurial_. He had encouraged Mikasa to go for detective, even though she had only served as a policewoman for a single year.  
“Hopefully I’ll live up to your expectations.” Said Mikasa.  
“Good, good… that’s the sort of attitude I like in my detectives.” Said Lt. Kaney.  
Mikasa nodded uncertainly, the ghost of a smile straining on her lips.  
_Be polite to your boss on the first day. Don’t ask too many questions_. _Don't act stupid._  
“Anyways…your office is over there,” he gestured at a smaller corner office.  
“You’ll be sharing it, we’re a little tight on space since fucking White Collar Crimes set up their task force in _my_ squad room…”  
Lt. Kaney gestured with frustration at the center of the room.  
“And, uh, Sergeant Levi isn’t in yet, he got a case early this morning and went straight to the scene…so…” Lt. Kaney paused, glancing around the empty squad room. “There’s really nothing to do here, so...you just meet up with him there, and…and lend a helping hand or something.”

Despite the stinging mist, Mikasa could see the outline of Mt. Rainer looming in the distance. The crime scene she had been dispatched to was at the very edge of Seattle’s city limits. Behind the abandoned sawmill, towering pines rose from the mist, dense and foreboding. To Mikasa, it looked like they had been there forever, and would be there long after she was gone. It was an unsettling feeling -it made her feel small.  
In the asphalt parking lot, two squad cars were parked, lights flashing and doors thrown open. One of the cars was Seattle PD; the other was a National Park Ranger SUV. Four uniformed officers stood talking in a huddle, one of whom Mikasa recognized from her old precinct. He waved her over.

“I thought that Wagner was joking when he said you made detective.”  
His name was Samuel Jackson, Mikasa remembered. They had been in the same graduating class at the academy. He was (or had been) a kind and eager trainee.  
“Ackerman makes the rest of us look bad. She’s a protégé.” Said Samuel, clapping Mikasa on the shoulder. “Made detective after just one year on patrol!”  
“It’s _prodigy_ , you dumbass.” Growled his partner, an older man with a beer belly and a bushy mustache, whom Mikasa did not recognize.  
“Anyways, Greavey and Luschek here were first on the scene, after a homeless man flagged them down, they called _us_ , we called _you_ , you know the drill.” Continued Samuel. Mikasa nodded sagely; despite the fact the she did not know the drill.  
“Sergeant Levi already took our statements.” Chimed in one of the rangers.  
“He’s inside with CSU now,” added the other, gesturing towards the abandoned sawmill. It was two stories, with a set of narrow, rusted stairs on one side and a dilapidated waterwheel on the other. The barn-style door had been pushed open, granting Mikasa a clear view. The floor was rough-poured concrete, covered in sawdust, warped and discolored in the places that rainwater had seeped through. Dusty sawing contraptions that had become defunct before Mikasa had even been born took up most of the room; the shadows they created took up the rest. In the middle of the floor, there was a dead girl.  
Pushing aside her nerves and putting her most stoic face on, Mikasa stepped slowly over to the body. A Crime Scene Unit tech was crouched in the corner, taking a wide shot of the room. Mikasa forced herself to look at the girl. Her body was contorted, her limbs jutting out at impossible angles. Mikasa crouched down, careful not to disturb anything. The body was covered in a powdery mix of dust and crumbled drywall, and more prominently, soaked with blood. Even with the head at a strange angle, Mikasa could see that the victim had been slashed ear to ear. The cut was so deep, Mikasa wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that her head was no longer connected to her body.  
Mikasa bit her lip and tried not to remember that she had seen worse.

“Oi.”  
Mikasa jerked her head up, following the sound of the voice, which seemed to be coming from directly above her. As Mikasa looked up, a flashlight shone directly in her eyes, causing her to shield her face.  
“You’re Ackerman?”  
Mikasa nodded, and the flashlight beam moved away, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the owner of the voice. Directly above the body was a gaping hole in the ceiling. And peering over the edge of the opening was a blue-eyed man with a flashlight.  
“Sergeant Levi?” ventured Mikasa.  
The man nodded. “Come up here.” His voice was deep, commanding, yet tired.  
The floor of the second level was spongy and dangerously unsupported, like trying to walk across a waterbed. In typical Seattle fashion, rain had seeped in and soaked the dilapidated carpet to the subfloor, leaving a minefield of unsure footing.  
Mikasa could do nothing but wobble as she made her way towards Sergeant Levi.  
“Is this safe?” Mikasa muttered. One of the CSU techs smiled at her. “Just stick to the beams, they run in a grid.”  
Sergeant Levi motioned her over to his side, where he was kneeling by the considerable hole in the floor. Mikasa crouched beside him wordlessly. He glanced at her for a split second, his cold blue eyes taking her in, evaluating.  
“Put your hair up,” he instructed.  
Mikasa obliged, and pulled her hair into a loose bun, eyeing the man who had been assigned to train her. He had an unfriendly face, a face that wouldn’t seem complete without a scowl. Despite the fact that his hair was gray at the temples, he looked to be closer to thirty rather than forty.  
“The medical examiner is on her way, and until then, don’t touch anything, don’ t talk to anybody, just watch what I do. Got it?” he barked.  
Mikasa bit back a scowl. He was going to be her partner for god-knows-how-long, training her until he retired. There was no sense in picking a fight on the first day; she _was_ playing catch-up after all.

“…Got it.”  
“Good. I don’t have time to be your fucking babysitter.”  
Now Mikasa scowled. Before she had time to think up a response, Levi began rattling off facts of the case. “The body was discovered when it crashed through the ceiling and into a camp of homeless using the sawmill for shelter, so far we’ve got no ID, but based on her outfit, it’s probably a working girl- I don’t see you writing this down?”  
“I don’t need to.” It was true. Mikasa had been possessed with nearly perfect memory recall her entire life. It was part of the reason people called her a prodigy.  
Levi snorted. “What are you? A fucking savant?”  
Mikasa flinched. She wasn’t necessarily _vain_ , but she had become accustomed to praise. Being insulted like this… it felt like she had been jabbed in the ribs.  
“Listen. Write it down or don’t, do whatever the fuck you want. But if you fuck up, that’s on you.” He had the slightest trace of a southern drawl, which only made Mikasa feel worse. Weren’t southerners supposed to be _nice_?  
Mikasa tucked her chin into her chest. “I won’t fuck up.” She muttered.  
“Glad to hear it.” Said Levi with what Mikasa could swear was an audible eye roll.  
“Now, tell me what you observe about the body.” He continued tonelessly, as if he hadn’t just cut her pride to pieces.  
Mikasa swallowed thickly, her throat feeling dry. For a bizarre moment, she had forgotten about the dead girl. “She can’t be older than fourteen…”  
Mikasa shone her flashlight down towards where the body was sprawled. Even in the dim light, she could see the bruises and scrapes on the girl’s knees, and the beginnings of a stick and poke tattoo on her upper thigh.  
“What was she doing all the way out here?” Mikasa wondered out loud.  
“Maybe she was hitchhiking, got in the wrong car.”  
Mikasa shifted the flashlight to the girl’s feet. She was wearing five-inch heels that looked a size too big.  
“You don’t hitchhike in shoes like that,” said Mikasa.  
“So she picked up the wrong john. Something goes wrong, he gets pissed, game over.” Said Levi, drawing his thumb across his neck to demonstrate.  
“I don’t get it. Why come all the way out here? It’s what, a 45 minute drive from the city?” said Mikasa, shaking her head. “Did he need privacy that badly?”  
Sergeant Levi looked contemplative. “It’s quiet out here. She could’ve screamed until her lungs gave out, and no one would have heard.”  
“You’re saying he knew he was going to kill her?” said Mikasa, eyes wide.  
Sergeant Levi shrugged. “I’m not saying anything for certain.”  
Mikasa was silent for a long moment. If Sergeant Levi was right, her job was about to become even more difficult.  
“If she’s a hooker, we could run her prints for priors.” She offered.  
Sgt. Levi made an assenting noise as he rose to his feet. He was shorter than Mikasa had expected. Mikasa rose to her full height, satisfied to see that she stood a good three or four inches taller than him. It almost soothed the sting from his earlier insults. He motioned for her to follow him before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. There was tension in the way he walked, his shoulders hunched and his hands clenched in fists, and despite his stature, Mikasa had to double her pace just to keep even.  
“What now?” she asked, a little breathless, as they strode past the uniformed officers without a word. Sergeant Levi clearly wasn’t the type to stop and chat.  
“Now? We head back to the station. And we wait. Wait for the medical examiner’s report, wait for CSU, wait for written statements from the first responders… a big part of the job is just a waiting game.”


	2. Bad News

Mikasa tapped her foot to an off-beat, erratic rhythm, partly to eradicate some of her boredom, and partly to annoy Sergeant Levi, who had assigned her a mountain of his backlogged paperwork. His handwriting was cramped and deeply grooved, like he wrote with a clenched fist. Mikasa wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. Everything about the man seemed tense. Even now, sitting at his desk, he was unusually rigid. A normal person might lean back in their chair, chew on their pen, _something_. From Sergeant Levi, Mikasa hadn’t heard so much as a cough.  
He had been poring over the same file for a good portion of the morning, occasionally lifting a glossy picture to examine more closely.  
Part of Mikasa was itching to know what was in the file, but a larger part of her wanted him to notice her first.  
It was a little childish, but neither of them had spoken since their return from the sawmill a few hours earlier, and Mikasa hated being the first to give in.  
Even so, his silence was stifling.  
Mikasa closed the file in front of her with an audible sigh.  
Still no reaction from Sergeant Levi, she noted as she peered up at him.  
Mikasa frowned and swiveled her chair so that she was facing the open door, and then used her foot to swivel herself back towards Levi. It was hard to stay still, with the buzz of activity that now filled the precinct, especially in this tiny, somber office she now occupied.  
Phones were ringing, uniformed officers and plain clothes detectives drifted in and out, and every so often Mikasa heard an office door slam shut. The office was set up so that Mikasa’s back was to the open door, (Lieutenant Kaney had an open door policy, to the chagrin of the entire homicide squad, and the White Collar crimes task force, who ‘didn’t like being stared at’) causing her to twist around each time the noise level rose above a low hum. All the sights and sounds were relatively new to her, capturing her attention more than old incident reports ever could.  
“Stop that.” Said Levi, without looking up from his desk.  
“Hm? Stop what?” asked Mikasa, adopting an innocent tone.  
“Tapping your foot. Drumming your fingers. You’re giving me a headache.” Said Sgt. Levi in what Mikasa was beginning to think was his signature monotone.  
“I didn’t even realize what I was doing.” Said Mikasa, perversely satisfied that she had gotten under his skin. Sergeant Levi just shook his head a little.  
“Those don’t look done to me,” he said, motioning at the stack of files on Mikasa’s desk with a wave of his pen.  
“I don’t think you should criticize my pace on _your_ paperwork.” Grumbled Mikasa, reaching for another file from the top of the stack. Levi didn’t respond, choosing to return to his silent inspection of what appeared to be old crime scene photographs.  
It grew silent again so quickly in their small office that Mikasa nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang almost a minute later.  
“Sergeant Levi…mmhmm…be down in a few.”  
Levi motioned at Mikasa to follow him out of the office.  
“Bring your coat, it’s cold down there.”

Even with the coat, Mikasa couldn’t help but shiver. It was cold, but not in the pleasant way that made you pull your hands inside the sleeves of your jacket, it was the kind of cold that seeped into your bloodstream and stayed with you.  
Even with her slight fever warming her skin, Mikasa felt uncomfortable. The room was too clinical, too sterile.  
This wasn’t her first trip down to the county morgue, located in the basement of the 7th precinct, a five minute drive from her new precinct, the 5th.  
The first time she had visited, it had been like an elementary school field trip, with academy trainees shuffling in to cast their wide eyes around before shuffling out just as quickly as they had came. At the time, there had been no bodies on the table, only an assistant medical examiner dolefully sterilizing a pair of shears.  
Still, it had been enough to spook several of the trainees, even Mikasa, although she wouldn’t admit to it. It was the slide-out refrigerated drawers that bodies were kept in that had briefly troubled her mind. Mikasa had awoken from more than one dream where she had been locked inside of a drawer, cold and naked with a tag on her toe, but still alive, still breathing, unable to move or speak.  
Now she was indifferent, her latest bad dreams involved running, not morgues.  
That same assistant from her first visit was still there; this time joined by Dr. Hange Zoe, the chief medical examiner, and the body from the sawmill, which was covered by a white sheet, except for the victim’s right hand, which hung limply from the side of the autopsy table, equal parts innocuous and unsettling.  
“Your victim’s name is Susan Helsinki, we ran her prints like you asked, and she was booked five months ago on solicitation charges, but they never went through. Her mother reported her missing roughly one year ago.”  
Dr. Hange Zoe was widely known throughout the police department as a slight eccentric, mostly due to her enthusiasm for her work, and her unique naming habits for Jane and John Does.  
“I concluded that the cause of death was a nicked carotid artery-“  
“What’s that?” Mikasa blurted.  
“It’s the largest vein in your neck, it carries oxygenated blood to-“  
“Hange.” Levi cut in. “Don’t ramble. Detective Ackerman can brush up on her anatomy later.”  
“Oh, lay off. Like you were any better when you first started! Couldn’t tell a bruise from a broken bone.” Said Dr. Zoe, laughing.  
“Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s tough." said Dr. Zoe, addressing Mikasa. "He spilled his guts all over his shoes at his first autopsy. Moblit had to mop it up.” She added, nodding at her assistant.   
“Can we focus on the _victim_?” asked Levi sharply, plainly annoyed.  
“Fine, fine.” acquiesced Dr. Zoe, throwing her hands up in mock defeat.  
“Your victim’s throat was slashed, pretty deep I might add.” She continued.  
“What kind of weapon are we looking at?” asked Levi.  
“The tearing of the skin indicates a serrated edge, so I would guess at a hunting knife, a machete, or something similar.” Said Dr. Zoe.  
“Any drugs in her system? Booze?”  
“Nothing substantial, just trace amounts of an over-the-counter antihistamine.”  
“An anti…?” asked Levi, furrowing his brow.  
“It’s an allergy medicine, like Claritin.” Offered Mikasa, wanting to be helpful.  
“Is that all?” asked Sergeant Levi.  
“Oh no. I was saving the weirdest thing for last.” Said Dr. Zoe, sounding slightly gleeful. Sergeant Levi exchanged a slightly exasperated glance with Mikasa.  
“Your perp? He took a souvenir. The fourth finger on her left hand was chopped off.”

“Is it true? What Dr. Zoe said?” asked Mikasa, as she practically jogged along side Sergeant Levi. He walked abnormally fast for someone of his stature.

“About the finger?”

“No… about you.”

He scoffed, before producing an individually wrapped peppermint candy from his coat pocket. Mikasa watched as he deftly unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth in one fluid motion.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Mikasa was slightly intrigued. Maybe he wasn’t as rigid as he seemed.

“ _You_ try watching the autopsy of a three-week old body that was found in a dumpster. See if you don’t lose your lunch. Want one?” he said, indicating the red and white stripped peppermint candy in his palm. Mikasa nodded, and he tossed her one, neatly outpacing her while she stopped to catch it. While he waited for her to catch up, he produced yet _another_ peppermint.

“How many of these do you have?” asked Mikasa, absented-mindedly rolling the plastic wrapper between her fingers as they emerged from the precinct.  
“Thousands. I keep some hidden in my socks.” He deadpanned.  
“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.” Said Mikasa with a cautious smile.There was a small chance that he was not joking.

“Do you know how to get to Queen Anne Heights from here?” he asked, changing the subject.

Mikasa nodded. It was a fairly easy drive to make from their current location.  
“What’s in Queen Anne Heights?”  
“The victim’s mother. I’ll do most of the talking, you just take notes.” said Sergeant Levi.  
Halfway through the drive, Levi turned to her.  
“You know those cop shows? Where every case is personal and they promise the family they’ll get the bad guy?”  
“Yeah?”  
“You can’t do that. You can’t promise.” he said quietly.  
It had started to rain, not quite a downpour, but hard enough for Mikasa to switch on her windshield wipers.  
“I know that.” She said quietly. When her parents had died, she had gotten no promises.  
“I’m serious. This is the hardest part for most people.” 

“I’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Helsinki made tea that neither Levi nor Mikasa touched.  
_We’re sorry for your loss._  
She hadn’t seen her daughter in over a year.  
“I thought she would come back. She ran away before, but she always came back, even if it was just for money. She just wanted to be on her own, that was always her thing. Couldn’t even wait to finish school. That’s her last school photograph over there,” she said, pointing at a framed photograph of Susan on the kitchen counter.  
“Ma’am, do you mind if we borrow this?” asked Levi, his southern accent more pronounced than usual. Maybe it put people at ease, made him seem more sincere.  
“Take it. I like the photos of Susie when she was little best anyways.” said Mrs. Helsinki. “She was a good baby. Never cried, you know?…I don’t know what happened.”  
Mikasa wondered if she knew her daughter had been turning tricks.  
_I don’t know what happened._  
“Thank you. We’ll call you as soon as something comes up.”

It was a quiet drive back from the Helsinki’s, but this time Mikasa welcomed the silence. Her mind was filled with questions and troubling thoughts.  
Mostly she just kept replaying what Susie’s mother had told them when she had been notified. _I thought she would come back. She always did_.  
Mikasa had ran away from her second foster home when she was Susie’s age, under the delusion that she could somehow make it to California. She had wanted to see the beaches, to live somewhere warm. She had hitchhiked all the way to the state border, before being stopped by a well-meaning sheriff.  
At the time, she had been destructively angry, filled with despair that her California dreams had been dashed, beyond dismayed that she had to return to dreary Seattle. Now she thought of herself as lucky. If she had gotten in the wrong car…  
“Did you know that cinnamon is a natural aphrodisiac?”  
“What?” Mikasa peered over at her partner. She had been so deep in thought she had almost forgotten he was in the car with her. He looked surprisingly mortified.         “Your thing, it’s uh. It’s cinnamon.” Sergeant Levi gestured at the air freshener that swung from her rearview mirror, avoiding Mikasa’s gaze.

Mikasa froze for a minute, and then laughed.  
“Damn!” said Mikasa, striking her palm against the steering wheel.  
“You’ve uncovered my secret plan to fuck my way to the top-don’t look so horrified, _I’m joking_.”  
“You’re real funny. Try keeping your eyes on the road.” He said, face flushed.  
Mikasa refrained from rolling her eyes. After a minute, she stole a side-glance at her partner. He had that same uncomfortable grimace as when he had first gotten in the car. Mikasa chewed at her lip. She didn’t want him to think that she _hadn’t_ been joking. The last thing she wanted was a bad reputation.  
“I like the way cinnamon smells. Not because of that, don’t smirk like that. It reminds me of Christmas.”  
“It’s March.” Said Levi, arching his brow.  
“So? I like Christmas. Everyone’s so much nicer to each other.”  
Levi made a non-committal noise.  
“What, you don’t like Christmas?” asked Mikasa.  
“I’m Jewish.” Levi shrugged. “And the holidays are a long ways away…turn left up here.” He said, indicating the side street that was rapidly approaching.  
Mikasa had no choice but to make a hard left, wincing as her seatbelt bit into her shoulder. From beside her, she could hear a steady steam of curses from Sergeant Levi, whose seatbelt had locked, pinning him against his seat.  
“Can you try and drive like a normal human being? This isn’t fucking Grand Theft Auto.” He seethed as he struggled to pull himself forward, only to have the rigid seatbelt snap him back into place.  
“Next time give me advanced warning! Was I supposed to miss the turn?” Mikasa said, struggling not to smile. The sight of Levi wrestling with his seatbelt was ghoulishly funny. Sergeant Levi fixed her with a glare so icy Mikasa swore the temperature in the car dropped.  
“Pull into this parking lot…slowly.” He commanded, indicating an empty lot.  
“We should canvas the pharmacies, someone had to see her buy those allergy pills.”  
“There has to be over a _hundred_ drugstores in Seattle.” Mikasa complained.  
“That’s why we’re starting with the ones downtown. If she picked up johns here, she probably picked up her medication, too.”  
Mikasa groaned as she unbuckled her seatbelt. It was raining, it was cold, and it would be nothing short of a miracle if anyone recognized Susie.

By a stroke of pure luck, (Mikasa refused to call it a miracle) the third drugstore they canvassed recognized Susie’s picture. The clerk who was working that night said she came in alone, bought off-brand Claritin with loose change and crumpled dollar bills, and left alone.  
“Did you see anyone following her? Or maybe you saw someone who seemed out of place? Creepy?”  
The clerk shrugged. “I wasn’t paying that much attention. It was late, my shift was almost over.”  
“Can you say exactly what time she was in here?”  
“Exactly? No. But I can say it was around eleven.”  
“That security camera work?” asked Mikasa, pointing at the security device aimed at the counter. The clerk nodded.  
“We’ll need that footage.” Asserted Levi.  
“I don’t have access, the manager does.”  
“Is he here?”  
The clerk shook his head. Levi drew a business card from his jacket pocket.  
“Have him call me. The sooner, the better. We _are_ working a homicide.”

Outside the drugstore, Mikasa stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets to keep them warm. Her fingers brushed against the cardboard box of cigarettes she had bought earlier. Her feverish morning felt like a distant memory, as if it had been weeks, not hours, since she had first set foot in the homicide division.  
Mikasa had barely put the cigarette between her lips before Levi started in on her.  
“Those are poison.” He asserted, his eyes narrowed in disapproval.  
Mikasa shrugged and lit up anyways. “I’m going to quit,” she said, inhaling deeply.  
“I _am_ going to quit,” she insisted, prompted by Levi’s look of disgust.  
“…After I finish this pack.”  
“I’m so sure. And after that, you’ll solve the crisis in the Middle East.”  
“I could be doing worse things.” Said Mikasa, nodding towards the street corner, where a very obvious drug deal was taking place. Levi snorted.  
“I’ll leave that to vice. Let’s go get something to eat.”

It was late enough in the afternoon that they could have been eating either a late lunch or a very early dinner. It was still raining, a soft gray drizzle that left dewy droplets in Mikasa’s hair and Levi’s jacket.  
Sergeant Levi suggested Miriam’s Café, because it was cheap and friendly to cops.  
It was a kitschy place, decorated in the style of a drive-in from the 1950’s, all pink and green linoleum. There was even a jukebox.  
The waitress who seated them at a booth by the window was wearing a wig, which seemed jarring to Mikasa because she wore no other adornments, no make up or jewelry. Just the wig.  
She also took their orders.  
“I’ll have a roast beef sandwich, a diet coke, and a bowl of captain crunch.” said Levi.  
“Captain Crunch?” Mikasa raised her eyebrows.  
“My doctor says replacing a desert with cereal is good for my cholesterol levels.”  
“Honestly, you’re so weird. I can’t be seen with you in public.” Said Mikasa teasingly, pulling her menu up so that it covered most of her face, except for her eyes.  
“What’s so weird about cereal?” asked Levi, defensive.  
“It’s not cereal, it’s a forty year old man ordering Captain Crunch.”  
“I’m thirty seven.” Said Levi sourly. “And Captain Crunch is timeless.”  
Mikasa ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup, which the menu advertised as ‘better than home cooked’, and a glass of water.  
Levi had brought the newspaper from Mikasa’s car, and was quietly rifling through the sports section. He had also produced a pair of reading glasses. Mikasa noted that he had one of those rare faces that were enhanced by glasses, making him slightly more attractive as he scanned the paper.  
Mikasa nudged his leg with the tip of her foot.  
“What.” He sighed.  
“Give me the crossword section.”  
He wordlessly handed the crossword section over, just as the waitress brought up their orders. If her soup was, in fact, ‘better than home cooked’, Mikasa had no way of knowing, as she had not been privy to very many home cooked meals.  
“So,” said Levi, who was halfway through his sandwich, “What’s your opinion on the finger?”  
Mikasa stirred her soup slowly. “Well, he did chop off her ring finger. Maybe he’s got some issues with the institution of marriage.”  
“Or maybe he took it as a trophy. A little something to remember her by.”  
“Where would you even keep something like that?” Mikasa wondered.  
“Maybe he had it for dinner. Like Dahmer.”  
“Ugh,” Mikasa winced. “I’m trying to eat.”


	3. Object Permanence// Ghosts

Mikasa nudged a piece of broken ice with the toe of her hiking boot, silently cursing her bad habits. It was colder than usual for a spring morning in Seattle, leaving the ground covered in a thin sheet of ice that would evaporate by noon, and Mikasa shivering as she tried to suck down her cigarette as quickly as possible.   
Sergeant Levi had taken to confiscating her cigarettes, plucking them from between her lips before she could even protest. Mikasa sighed and dug her fingers deeper into the pockets of her parka. Her mind was cloudy and her body was weary. It would take some time before she could adjust to the irregular hours that homicide detectives worked. Last night, she and Levi had been in the office until almost 2 AM, watching and rewatching the drugstore footage of Susie Helsinki buying off-brand allergy medication, until their eyelids burned from exhaustion.  
It was the only evidence-Mikasa couldn’t really call it a lead, since it lead nowhere- that they had, the only evidence that Susie Helsinki had existed, apart from her previous arrest and her death certificate.  
Evisceration. It’s not quite the right word, but Mikasa can’t think of another term for what happened to Susie Helsinki. How her almost non-existence had been whittled away until she was nothing but a name on an autopsy report.  
Mikasa shivered again.  
Minutes later, Mikasa watched Sergeant Levi pull into the precinct parking lot.  
He drove a Honda that he kept so immaculately clean, inside and out, that it appeared brand new. Even the tires were spotless, a feat that impressed Mikasa.  
Mikasa hastily put out her cigarette, kicking the spent remainder away from her.  
“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Sergeant Levi called out to her, emerging from his car.  
He was wearing a gray woolly sweater, a departure from his usual crisp white button-ups, and he was carrying two large Styrofoam cups, which left a trail of steam in the crisp morning air. He looked more tired than Mikasa felt.  
“What happened to quitting?” he said as he strode towards the building.  
“I’m under a lot of stress.” Mikasa retorted.  
“It’s only been a week,” Levi scoffed. “You’re going to need a better excuse.”  
“We’re all stressed.” He added, with something close to a half smile.  
Mikasa scrunched up her face. He was always tacking on reassurances to his insults.  
“C’mon,” he motioned at the door. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”  
“I got coffee,” he said, handing her a large Styrofoam cup with a black lid.  
“Thanks,” Said Mikasa, slightly taken aback by the small act of kindness.   
“I don’t know how you take it, so I just grabbed extra cream and sugars.” He said, unceremoniously dropping a crumpled brown paper bag on her desk.   
“What’s this?” asked Mikasa, gesturing at the whiteboard that was taking up most of the space in their already-cramped office.  
“A visual aid.”   
Mikasa sat down cautiously, sinking into her chair as much as she could.  
Sergeant Levi had some sort of mile-a-minute thinking process, a hummingbird work ethic, flitting from one task to another with an almost impossible fluidity.   
Trying to keep up with him was like competing in a marathon- a feat of endurance.   
Mikasa watched as Levi pinned glossy photographs to the whiteboard with tiny, circular magnets. On the left, he had pinned Susie’s school photo, and on the right of the board, some of the crime scene photos, including a close-up of her left hand, which was missing it’s ring finger. It made for a gruesome contrast.  
“When was she last seen?” asked Levi suddenly, pointing at Mikasa with a marker.  
“Around 11:30 P.M.” Mikasa answered, popping the lid of her coffee with her thumb, adding cream and four packets of sugar. Levi wrinkled his nose (he took his coffee black) before returning to his questioning.  
“And in Hange- sorry, Dr. Zoe’s report, what was the estimated time of death?”   
“2 AM.”   
Levi nodded, more to himself than in acknowledgement of her answer.   
“That means she had to have met her killer at around…midnight.”  
“Is that important?” asked Mikasa.  
“Probably not. But it’s more than we had before.” Sergeant Levi shrugged.  
“We should probably recanvas the neighborhood surrounding that drugstore again,” he added after a moment of reflection.   
“Oh please no,” groaned Mikasa, recalling the fruitless hours she and Levi had spent canvassing in downtown Seattle, made worse by the rain and cold.  
“You’re right,” said Levi, crossing over to his desk to sit.   
“I am?” said Mikasa, utterly surprised.  
“No one wanted to come forward then, and they definitely won’t now. Some kind of ‘hear no evil, see no evil’ street-code bullshit.” He said emphatically, leaning back.  
A considerable stretch of silence overtook the small office, although it was somehow more comfortable than that same quietness had been on that first day.  
Mikasa frowned at the pictures Levi had put up, deep in thought.  
“This guy…he knew what he was doing, right?” she asked aloud.  
“It does appear that way,” drawled Levi.  
“So…maybe we should look for someone with a previous record of violence toward working girls?” Mikasa suggested.   
“What, you want to run down every asshole who ever busted a hooker’s lip? That’s a very long list.” Said Sergeant Levi, languidly readjusting himself so that he was leaning forward, his bright blue eyes firmly fixed on Mikasa’s face, searching.  
“You’re right,” said Mikasa dryly. “It was stupid of me to make a suggestion. I’m sure your idea is much better.”  
The look Levi gave her was so sour it almost veered on comical. After a long moment, he snatched the phone that sat between their desks and began forcefully punching in a number.  
“Who are you calling?” asked Mikasa weakly, her stomach lurching. Was he reporting her to Lt. Kaney? Being fired after only one week was probably some kind of departmental record, she thought. Just when we were starting to get along, too.  
“…My friend in vice. Don’t look so fucking pleased with yourself, you’re going to have to go through all those files on your own…”

In the end, Levi had relented, citing her slow pace (he said he’d like to retire on schedule, instead of twenty years from now), and was currently sitting across from her, almost literally knee deep in file boxes, systematically scanning incident reports for anything that seemed similar to their case. Mikasa bit her lip. Sergeant Levi had been right, it was a very long list to go through. She wouldn’t admit that out loud, though. She flicked her eyes over to where he sat. He looked quietly disheveled, tousled hair, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, an open file balanced on his knee.  
He has nice arms, Mikasa observed. He was in very good shape for a man of almost forty. Mikasa decided she liked him a lot better when he kept his mouth shut.  
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered occasionally, making it hard to concentrate. Mikasa skimmed the report in front of her: a man had kicked a prostitute in the ribs after refusing to pay for her services. It turned Mikasa’s stomach, but it wasn’t relevant to the case at hand. None of the files she had looked at so far had seemed to fit. And there are so many more, Mikasa thought, despairing.  
“What time is it?” asked Levi suddenly, without looking up from his task.  
Mikasa pushed back the sleeve of her blue sweater to glance at her watch, a dented and scratched timepiece that had belonged to her father. It was Mikasa’s favorite possession.  
“It’s almost noon, why?”  
Sergeant Levi didn’t answer, but instead stood up slowly, lazily stretching so that every vertebra in his back made a sickening pop, making Mikasa wince.  
“I have somewhere to be.” He said nonchalantly.   
Mikasa rose from her seat as well, reaching for her parka.   
“You’re staying here,” said Sergeant Levi, clapping his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her back into her seat.  
“But-” said Mikasa, utterly confused. Wasn’t she supposed to be shadowing him?  
“Don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone,” he called out over his shoulder.  
Mikasa slumped in her seat, gazing around at the boxes upon boxes of incident reports that Sergeant Levi had left her to deal with. He hadn’t even said how long he would be gone, or when he would be back.   
“Asshole,” she muttered to no one in particular, toying with the idea of lighting up a cigarette, partially out of spite, and partially out of need.   
She spent a full minute fidgeting with her lighter, running her thumb over the metallic gear-switch, before deciding to return to the daunting task of sorting through old incident reports. The officer from vice had dropped off six boxes full of files, and those were just from this year alone. Mikasa sighed, a little overwhelmed.  
There was a soft knock on the door. Mikasa twisted around to see Dr. Hange Zoe leaning against the doorframe.  
“Is Levi around?” said Dr. Zoe, taking in the chaos that was formerly an office.  
“You just missed him, sorry.”  
“Ah that’s right, he has his AA meetings on Saturdays, I always forget.” Said Dr. Zoe, pressing their palm to their forehead sheepishly.  
“His…Alcoholics Anonymous meeting?” said Mikasa slowly, a little incredulously.  
“He didn’t tell you? Of course he didn’t tell you, what am I thinking?” said Dr. Zoe, cleaning their glasses with the lapel of their white lab coat.  
“He’s a very private person,” added Dr. Zoe.  
“So I’ve gathered.”  
“Anyways, I just came by to give him the autopsy report from the Jaeger case, like he requested.” Continued Dr. Zoe breezily, handing Mikasa a rather thick file.   
“You’ll tell him I dropped by?”   
Mikasa nodded, weighing the file in her hands. It was dated 2011, and was earmarked as solved. Why would he request an autopsy report from a solved case?  
“It would probably be best if you didn’t mention that I told you-“  
“I wouldn’t- I won’t.” Mikasa clarified.   
Dr. Zoe beamed. 

 

As soon as Mikasa was sure Dr Zoe had disappeared down the hallway, she tore open the file, poring over it as quickly as she could. Sergeant Levi could be back any moment, and Mikasa didn’t want to get caught snooping.  
Dr. Zoe had included a toxicology report, photographs of a body in the autopsy room, and a write-up of her post-mortem examination. All of these things were standard, Mikasa knew. There didn’t appear to be anything particularly unusual hidden in Dr. Zoe’s spidery cursive, only the entirely clinical facts was included.  
The victim’s name was Carla Jaeger. Her age was listed as 32.  
Her cause of death was listed as severed carotid artery, and in parenthesis, Dr. Zoe had written: cut deep-to bone-unusual?  
The victim also showed bruising on her upper arms-indication of struggle- and her left ring finger had been broken. Mangled, Dr. Zoe had written.  
Mikasa felt a jolt of electricity travel the length of her spine. Could this be the connection she and Levi had been looking for?  
Still, there was a world of difference between a broken finger and a severed one. Mikasa chewed her lip thoughtfully. Sergeant Levi had clearly found the case similar enough to request the old files. Mikasa cautiously closed the autopsy report, remembering with sudden clarity that he had spent an absurd amount of time looking at an old case file-perhaps it had been Carla Jaeger’s case file?  
She tiptoed around to his side of the office, carefully sliding open his desk drawer.  
He hadn’t exactly gone to great lengths to hide it- in fact, it was the first thing Mikasa saw, nestled in between extra pencils and loose paper clips.   
Mikasa slowly lifted a glossy crime scene photo, ignoring the chill that traveled from the tips of her fingers to the center of her chest as her mind processed what she was looking at. For a strange moment, it almost seemed as if one of the crime scene photographs from the Helsinki case had wound up in the wrong file. There was a horrible synchronism in the way Carla Jaeger’s throat had been slashed, in the way her body was splayed across her kitchen floor.   
Mikasa pinned the photo of Carla next to the one of Susie, no longer caring if Levi knew she had been looking in his files.   
It was unmistakable, aligned side by side, down to the same look of fear captured in their glassy eyes.  
It was the same killer.

 

Mikasa frowned as Sergeant Levi’s phone went to voicemail for the third time.  
He still hadn’t returned to the office, and Mikasa was buzzing with uncontained energy and questions that reverberated in her head like a pinball, bouncing wildly in her skull. Why had the killer changed his victimology? Carla Jaeger was a brunette, 5’11 and 32 years old, whereas Susie Helsinki was blonde, 5’0 and barely 15.   
And why had the killer waited three years to strike again?  
Mikasa felt as though she was tugging on a loose piece of thread, and with each new question that arose, the fabric became more and more unraveled, leaving her with nothing but a pile of loose threads that were impossible to make sense of.  
The question that truly vexed Mikasa was the killer’s fixation on the ring finger.  
In Carla Jaeger’s case file, the detectives had suspected that the killer was trying to remove the victim’s wedding ring, which all but confirmed the running theory that the husband had done it. Mikasa bit her lip. There was no way to know if Susie had been wearing any kind of ring, let alone a wedding ring.   
You’re a killer, thought Mikasa, pacing the length of her tiny office. You’ve just killed a woman in her own home, and you liked it. Mikasa suppressed the small wave of queasiness that arose when she thought of a grinning killer standing over a limp body, wrenching away a wedding ring as a final keepsake.  
You liked it so much that you had to do it again, she continued, deep in thought.  
But this time, you found a better victim. You found someone who wouldn’t be missed, or…someone who was already missing. Her gaze turned to the photograph of Susie.  
Struck by sudden clarity, Mikasa scrawled first victim underneath the photograph of Carla Jaeger. Underneath Susie’s photo, a small question mark.   
Mikasa was beginning to feel as though she had opened Pandora’s box, unleashing something far darker than her own mind could comprehend. How many more  
girls could be out there, rotting away, nameless, faceless, and short a left ring finger? 

When Mikasa had been younger, her first social worker had described her as a ‘nowhere girl’ (as in, you’re going nowhere, girl) and Mikasa had thought that was as close to immortality as you could get. If someone could be nowhere, they could be anywhere, and she had thought that was true freedom.   
Susie Helsinki was a nowhere girl, Mikasa had decided. Or she had been, until she had died. That left her somewhere, a physical somewhere. A tangible, pinpointed somewhere. Mikasa had gone to ask Detective Shultz for a map of the Mt. Rainier National Park, which comprised of an impressive 236,381 acres of dense forest, glacial mountain peaks, and wildflower meadows.  
With a felt marker, Mikasa drew an X on the bottom left of the map, approximately where the sawmill would be. Mikasa had a theory that the killer had chosen the sawmill for a reason that went beyond a need for privacy.  
The area near the sawmill was coded as pine forest, and there was nothing truly remarkable about the sector, save for a very small pond that had been generously labeled a lake. Mikasa circled the lake with a sense of rising triumph.

The sense of triumph had vanished when the third body was pulled from the murky water, wrapped in plastic and fishing wire. Like the first two, it was too far decomposed to discern any identifiable features, save for the missing ring finger.  
The whole scene was nightmarish: the cold weather and lack of precipitation had caused that water levels to recede, allowing what had been long submerged to rise to the surface. Men and women in white HAZMAT suits emblazoned with the words ‘CRIME SCENE UNIT’ waded in the knee deep water, placing plastic flags near each identified body. Mikasa counted ten flags so far, a lump rising in her throat.  
This must be how Pandora felt, Mikasa thought numbly, unable to move from where she stood. To her immediate left, two uniformed officers were unrolling a plastic tarp. Dr. Zoe was kneeling in the mud beside the third body, measuring something.  
Sergeant Levi still wasn’t answering his phone.

 

Levi lived in a small house in Maple Leaf, one of those cookie-cutter bungalows that went hand-in-hand with driving a Honda and wearing perfectly ironed shirts.  
Another day, Mikasa might have made fun of him for it, but she was far removed from a laughing mood. Her veins were coursing with anxiety, turning her skin to ice and her tongue to stone. Mikasa went to knock on his front door, only to find that it was slightly ajar.   
“Levi?” she called out cautiously, stepping inside.   
All the lights were off, and apart from the furniture, the house appeared uninhabited. Mikasa tiptoed further into the house, followed by the pervasive feeling that something was wrong.   
He was sitting alone in the unlit gloom, so perfectly still that Mikasa could’ve mistaken him for a statue. A wave of relief washed over her. He was okay!  
When he made no move to acknowledge her presence, Mikasa curled her fists.  
“I’ve been trying to call you all day, we found-“ she began.  
“I know.“ He said, his voice rough and heavy with emotion.   
“I’ve been listening to the radio,” he added, turning to look at her. His eyes were dull, filled with an unquantifiable sadness that made Mikasa’s throat dry.  
“They executed him.” He whispered.  
“What are you talking about?” Mikasa sat beside him slowly, alarmed.  
“I thought he did it – we all thought he was guilty-“ he broke off, shoulders slumped.  
“Who did you think was guilty?” asked Mikasa gently, hesitantly placing her hand on his forearm in what she hoped was a soothing fashion. He didn’t seem to hear her.  
“I testified in court, Mikasa. I put an innocent man away…” Levi buried his face in his hands, apparently distraught. Mikasa struggled to think of something encouraging to say, but this raw display of emotion had caught her off-guard and left her tongue tied. She settled for prying one of his hands from his face, and clasping it between her own. “You didn’t know…” she managed to say softly.   
Levi tilted his head towards her, furrowing his brow in confusion.  
“The Jaeger case,” she elaborated. “…I read it. You arrested the husband.”  
“Grisha Jaeger.” nodded Levi slowly. “They buried him in an unmarked county grave. That’s what they do with the bodies that get the death penalty, did you know that?”   
Mikasa shook her head quietly. She hadn’t known. No one really wanted to know.  
“All I can think about is that poor little boy. He has no mother and no father, because of me. And those girls would still be alive, if I hadn’t fucked up…” he trailed of hoarsely, looking defeated. If it was possible for a human being to embody a void, Levi looked close to it. He was sinking into himself, the very picture of a supernova that had collapsed and was in the process of swallowing itself.  
Mikasa gently rubbed his knucklebones with her thumb- his hands were so cold-and she wasn’t even sure that he realized that she was there, his gazed was so unfocused. Mikasa frowned and squeezed his hand to get his attention.  
“You’re going to be okay.” She said firmly, as if saying it would make it true.  
Levi glanced up at her mournfully, almost stubbornly. Mikasa had read that when a star collapses, it creates a black hole that pulls everything around it into nothingness. When Levi reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, Mikasa found that she was unable to pull away, and when his lips collided with hers, fierce and desperate and strangely tender, it was impossible to tell who was the collapsing star and who was the one caught in the gravitational pull.


	4. Lies

Mikasa ran her tongue over her teeth, tasting bitterness. She was rooted in place, her fingers digging into the steering wheel as the engine hummed.  
All she had to do was exit her car, and walk the thirty-something feet to the precinct, but she found that she couldn’t. She was somewhat paralyzed by the ghost of rough lips on her own, of infinitely sad blue eyes, of a strong hand on the back of her neck.  
His car was already here. Mikasa felt her stomach twist. She pulled her rear-view mirror so that she could see her reflection. Her bottom lip was still swollen, she noted, her skin feeling warm. Mikasa pulled her white turtleneck up so that it covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her pink cheeks and wide gray eyes.  
It was just a kiss, stupid. Mikasa chided herself. It didn’t mean anything.  
She might as well suck it up and head inside. Besides, she was running late already- the analogue clock on her dashboard read 8:10 AM- and today, Lt. Kaney was setting up a taskforce. He would want everyone present- especially Mikasa, since she had the dubious honor of being the one to discover the bodies. Mikasa had never seen the precinct parking lot so full this early in the morning- it looked as if the entire Seattle police department had shown up.  
As Mikasa made her way inside, she found that she had not been wrong- the precinct was teeming with activity. Uniformed officers that Mikasa had never laid eyes upon before mingled with members of the homicide squad that Mikasa knew rarely worked the morning shift. Someone had wheeled the whiteboard out of Mikasa and Levi’s office and into the center of the squad room. Mikasa’s throat tightened at the sight of her own handwriting-first victim?  
Mikasa noted with relief that Levi was nowhere in sight-although the light in their office was on, spilling out from under the closed door. The air was filled with the hum of low conversation and the occasional shrill phone ringing.  
Someone had set up a long table with coffee and donuts, for which Mikasa was grateful. She grabbed a cup of coffee and a sugar-dusted donut before finding a seat between Detective Ed Gin and a uniformed officer.  
“You sure picked a hell of a first case,” said Detective Gin, almost apologetically.  
Mikasa nodded in silent agreement, her attention absorbed by the appearance of Captain Erwin Smith. He was a large, broad shouldered man, and he looked like everything a cop should be-handsome, trustworthy, and strong. He was wearing his dress blues, sharply pressed and glittering with earned medals. Mikasa realized that he was here to make a statement, not to the various assembled law enforcement agents, but to the press. Mikasa tried to suppress a wave of resentment- it was the duty of the police to keep the public informed, after all- but the precinct would be flooded with phone calls from concerned parents and parasitic journalists.  
She could see the headlines now: Serial Killer Terrorizes Seattle!  
Captain Smith took one last surveying glance around the room before heading to the front of the precinct, where Mikasa was sure that every news station in Seattle would be waiting for him. If Mikasa had left Pandora’s box ajar, Captain Smith was about to smash it entirely.

It had been well over an hour since the press conference, and the phones had not stopped ringing. Mikasa wasn’t sure if it was the shrill, incessant telephones, the amount of strangers milling around, or the fact that Sergeant Levi had taken it upon himself to burn holes in the back of her head by staring at her from across the room, but she suddenly found the squad room unbearable.  
She grabbed her army green anorak and disentangled herself from the phone lines, not exactly sure where she was heading. She couldn’t go outside for a smoke break- not with all those reporters waiting. She was trapped like a mouse in a cardboard maze, stuck between confronting the consequences of her own actions.  
“Are you mad at me?”  
Mikasa didn’t have to turn around to know who had followed her out into the empty hallway. He had been trying to summon her with puppy-dog eyes all morning.  
“No, I’m not mad at you,” she said carefully, turning to face him. He looked better than he had when she had last seen him. Clean-shaven, hair neatly combed. Reconstructed.  
“Can we talk about-?” he ventured, before Mikasa cut him off with a frantic wave of her hand. That was the absolute last thing she wanted to talk about.  
“We don’t have to- I mean, we could just…say it never happened?”  
Levi broke eye contact, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  
“Okay.”  
“Okay,” Mikasa affirmed, feeling relieved. “Is…is there something we should be doing?”  
“Something besides answering phones?” said Levi, looking up with a wry smile.  
“Yeah, besides that.”  
“We could go see how Dr. Zoe is doing?”

The office of the medical examiner, alongside the autopsy room itself, could only be reached by taking an elevator down from the main floor of the fifth precinct. The separation of facilities was meant to keep the risk of biohazard contamination to a minimum, but in practice, it just meant extra legwork.  
The autopsy room was separated from the rest of the building, not only by a pair of gleaming automatic doors, but also by an entirely different HVAC system.  
The door slid open and Levi and Mikasa were greeting with a wave of frigid air, feeling not unlike having a bucket of ice water dumped over ones head.  
Mikasa frowned and tucked her chin into her turtleneck, her skin prickling uncomfortably at the sudden temperature drop. Aside from the cold, the once too-sterile autopsy room had become cluttered and chaotic. Seventeen dead bodies in various states of decomposition, some still wrapped in plastic and fishing wire, took up all available space. Dr. Zoe was in the far corner, tangled up in the phone cord and in the midst of what appeared to be a very heated conversation.  
Levi raised his arms in a half-hearted ‘what’s going on’ gesture, surveying the room with a furrowed brow. Dr. Zoe hung up the corded phone with a disproportionate amount of force and darted over to Levi and Mikasa, their face suffused with color.  
“I have nothing for you-I haven’t had time-“ Dr. Zoe explained, gesturing wildly  
“Why’d you turn the place into a freezer, Hange?” asked Levi, crossing his arms over his chest for warmth, looking around with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.  
“I had to- the cold storage drawers, they broke, and I don’t know if they were overcapacity or what, but I’ve called the county morgue and the hospital and they’ve both been fucking useless and-” rambled Dr. Zoe breathlessly.  
“Slow down. What happened?” asked Levi with a raised brow.  
“What happened is that I have seventeen bodies and nowhere to put them!” snapped Hange, lashing out at a nearby medical supply cart with her foot, neatly overturning it. Mikasa jumped back as various scalpels, bone saws, and sample jars clattered across the floor in every direction. There was a brief movement of earsplitting silence as the last of the test tubes rolled underneath Dr. Zoe’s desk, unreachable.  
“I’m glad to see your anger management classes are going well,” said Levi dryly.  
“Ugh.” Said Dr. Zoe, sliding to the floor and reaching for the nearest wayward scalpel. Mikasa followed suit, frowning over her shoulder at Levi, who remained standing. He shrugged at her, unapologetic.  
“I’m doing my best under the circumstances, Lev.” Mumbled Dr. Zoe.  
“Did I tell you that Erwin wants names by Friday?” they continued.  
“Can you do that?” asked Mikasa, genuinely curious. Dr. Zoe boasted some of the best credentials on the west coast. They had even published a book on pathology.  
“Ha!” barked Dr. Zoe. “I’ll be lucky if I can get a rough estimate for TOD on some of these bodies. Do you know what being submerged in water does to a body?”  
“It degrades evidence?” ventured Mikasa.  
“It destroys evidence, actually. It’s really fascinating how environmental factors-“  
“Hange.” Levi cut in. “Save your lecture for the forensic crowd, will you?”  
“I want to hear it,” insisted Mikasa. “It could help us with the case.”  
Levi scowled, tucking his hands under his armpits for warmth. “Fine.”  
“But make it quick, I’m already in stage one of hypothermia over here,” he added, glaring at Dr. Zoe, who merely grinned and readjusted her glassed.  
“As I was saying, environmental factors play a very large role in the decomposition rate of a human being- of any dead thing, really. In the case of your victims, I think the killer had in-depth knowledge of forensics. He probably knew that bodies submerged in water decompose twice as fast as those left on land.”  
“Fantastic. That narrows it down to anybody who’s watched an episode of CSI.”  
“Aha, but even your most attentive CSI watcher would make a certain mistake.” Said Dr. Zoe, with a theatrical wiggle of their eyebrows. Levi groaned, burying his face in his hands. Dr. Zoe turned their attention back to Mikasa, eyes alight with intensity.  
“Mikasa, what body of water would you dump a body into?” asked Dr. Zoe pointedly.  
“…Elliot bay, probably.” answered Mikasa after some consideration.  
“That’s what I would do.” echoed Levi.  
“Well, you’re both going to prison, because bodies take longer to decompose in saltwater than in freshwater.” Said Dr. Zoe triumphantly.

 

“Your hair looks nice today.” He offered tentatively, glancing over at her from the driver’s seat.  
“Thanks.” Mikasa ran her fingers over her plaited hair distractedly; turning over what she had learned from Dr. Zoe in her head. No matter how many times she revisited it, breaking apart the facts and rearranging them in different patterns, she couldn’t find any kind of insight.  
The car ride back to the seventh precinct was a mostly silent one, although the silence had regained a heavy awkwardness. Mikasa could feel the weight pressing down on her chest, feel it squeeze her lungs with cold fingers. It hadn’t been so noticeable in the squad room, nor when they had spoken with Dr. Zoe, but now that it was just the two of them, the tension was palpable.  
That’s not my fault, she thought. He’s the one that stepped over the line.  
But you kissed him back, said a smaller voice, one that sounded an awful lot like hers.

“We have a major problem.” Said Lieutenant Kaney, flagging Levi and Mikasa over before they could even reach their desks.  
“If you’re talking about all those reporters…we went around the building. They won’t even have a ‘no comment’ from us.” Said Levi, exchanging a glance with Mikasa. Even though he maintained a cool exterior, Mikasa was sure he had just experienced the same ‘oh shit he knows’ flutter of anxiety.  
“I don’t give a shit about lowlife reporters.” Said Lt. Kaney with a wave of his hand.  
“I just got a phone call from Northwest Hospital. They’ve got a girl in ICU, real banged up. I’ll let you guess what digit she’s missing.”  
“Shit,” said Levi.  
“I want you two,” continued Lt. Kaney in what amounted to a whisper, “To get her statement. Nobody else knows she’s there- I don’t want a media stampede.”

The Intensive Care Unit of Northwestern Hospital was, Mikasa thought, bizarrely muted for such a center of chaos. Specialized nurses flew from bedside to bedside, speaking in hushed tones and administering care to patients who had been inflicted with varying degrees of trauma. The air was thick with the hum of respirators and the faint beeps of heart monitors.  
Angie Gower, the girl who got away, had been ensconced in a less heavily trafficked corner. She was no older than fifteen, and was possessed with curly red hair, and pale, alabaster skin, skin that bore a hideous amount of dark, purpling bruises.  
As a further testament to the horror that she had endured, her neck and left hand were wrapped in clean linen bandages.  
“Hi Angie, I’m Levi, and this is my partner Mikasa. We’re with the police.” Said Levi, so kindly that Mikasa almost didn’t recognize who was speaking.  
Angie shrank back as much as her intubation allowed, her eyes wider than dinner plates.  
“You aren’t in any trouble, honey. We just want to ask a few questions about the man who did this to you. Can we sit here?” asked Levi, gesturing at the fold out chairs that had been provided. The girl gave a tremulous nod.  
“I didn’t see his face,” she whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t.”  
“Was he wearing a mask?”  
“It was…dark. He was parked…under a broken… streetlight and… he made me…sit in the back. I never saw his face.” Angie insisted, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Mikasa bit her lip. This girl seemed so small here, so impossibly young and fragile. And she was alone. Mikasa suppressed the urge to reach out and hold the poor girl’s hand.  
“You’re doing just fine, Angie.” reassured Sgt. Levi. “Can you remember anything else? Any small detail about what he looked like will help us catch him.”  
“He was tall,” said Angie slowly. “And I think he was white.”  
“That’s very helpful,” said Sgt. Levi, lying through his teeth.  
“I remember his car…it was new.” Continued Angie, her brow furrowed.  
“What makes you say that?” questioned Mikasa, earning a sharp glance from Levi for cutting in on an interview. Despite everything that had happened, Mikasa was still in her probationary period, allowed only to observe.  
“The seats still had plastic on them.”  
Levi exchanged another glance with Mikasa, one of alarm and slight exasperation.  
Mikasa understood: this particular killer was so methodically prepared; the likelihood of finding him was growing smaller by the second. And even worse: if he was anywhere near as intelligent as they suspected him to be, he would surely move on to a new city, a new set of victims.  
“Did he say anything to you? Could you recognize his voice, if you heard it again?” asked Levi, rising from his seat.  
“He said he was saving me.” said the girl so faintly, Mikasa almost missed the tremor in her voice.

 

Futility is the word on the tip of her tongue as she follows Sergeant Levi to the doorstep yet another dilapidated building, onto the porch of what had to be the fifteenth youth shelter in as many days. She had tried telling him about these places, about how they are too overcrowded and understaffed to tell one underfed teenage runaway from another, but Sergeant Levi didn’t believe in futility.  
Eden. Mikasa grimaced at the peeling, hand painted letters above the door. All of these places had such promising names. It almost seemed like a cruel joke, like whoever had painted those letters knew exactly how untrue they were.  
Levi knocked on the door, his gloved hands producing a muffled thud against the cracked wood.  
“We don’t open our doors before six. No exceptions.” Said a muffled voice, barely discernable from behind the closed door.  
“Seattle Police. Make an exception.”  
The door cracked open just enough for Mikasa to catch a glimpse of a doughy face and a priest’s collar. “Identification?”  
Levi pulled his badge from the depths of one of his jacket pockets, motioning at Mikasa to do the same. She still hadn’t received her detective badge, and was in fact still using her old badge from patrol. The average citizen usually couldn’t tell the difference, but Mikasa could, and it irked her.  
“I’m Sergeant Levi and that’s Detective Ackerman. We’re investigating a homicide.”  
Having apparently satisfied the man at the door with their credentials, the door swung open, and Mikasa and Levi were ushered inside.  
“I’m Pastor Nick,” said the priest. “You said homicide?”  
“You don’t sound surprised.” Observed Levi, his tone almost accusatory.  
“I’ve been working with high-risk teens for over twenty years, detective.” Said Pastor Nick with a trace of weariness. “Nothing surprises me, unfortunately.”  
“Do you keep records of who stays here?” asked Levi, looking around the dilapidated building with distaste.  
Pastor Nick shook his head. “We open the doors at six, and whoever shows up first… some of these kids won’t even tell you their name, you know, because they don’t want to end up back in the system.”  
“What about this girl?” said Mikasa, brandishing the photo of Angie. “Did she stay here?”  
“Angie? She’s a regular.”  
Mikasa blinked in surprise. In the two weeks since Angie Gower had bolted from the hospital, Levi and Mikasa had been met with nothing but dead ends and doors slammed in their faces. She glanced at Sergeant Levi, who appeared just as surprised by the information as she was, in his own way. To an outside observer, he appeared as cool and unconcerned as ever. But there was a slight eyebrow raise, a locked jaw, and the slightest flush of color on his neck.  
“When was the last time she was here?” he prompted.  
“You know, we haven’t see her here in a few weeks…don’t tell me…!”  
“She’s missing. She’s a key witness in a case we’re investigating.” intoned Mikasa, keeping her voice as even as possible. “If you’ve seen her, we need to know.”  
“I’m not hiding anything from you, detectives.” Insisted Pastor Nick, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. "I'll tell you whatever you need."  
“Tell me about these photographs.” ordered Levi, gesturing at the rows of photographs of teenaged girls, some smiling, and some making goofy faces, which were pinned to a corkboard underneath the heading ‘Angels’.  
“S-some of my regulars like to have their photos taken. It makes them feel-“  
“I hope you aren’t about to say comfortable,” cut in Levi, “Because these photos make me a little uncomfortable. Some of these ‘angels’ look very young, don’t you think, Mikasa?”  
_Why is he stalling?_ Mikasa thought, striding forward to examine the photographs up close, before nearly freezing in place. In the third row, near the left corner, was a photograph of Susan Helsinki, a smile frozen on her face.

 

“I don’t understand why we can’t arrest him,” Mikasa complained, her arms crossed stubbornly as she stopped short of Levi’s Honda, which he had parked around the corner. Levi just shook his head as he moved to open the passenger side door.  
“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”  
“We have evidence.”  
“A photograph is not sufficient evidence.” Levi insisted, holding the door open for her. Mikasa remained where she was.  
“What about the fact that he knew both girls?” she tried.  
“Circumstantial. Get in the car.” Said Levi impatiently.  
“But-“  
“Get in the fucking car, Mikasa.”  
Mikasa acquiesced unhappily, settling into the passenger seat with a frown.  
“I can’t believe you’re going to let him get away.” Said Mikasa bitingly, pulling her hair into a loose bun as Levi started the car. Levi sighed heavily.  
“If he is our guy, we need to build a case based on more than just suspicion. I think he’s creepy too, but we can’t run around arresting people just because you have a bad feeling in your gut.”  
“So what are we going to do?” asked Mikasa, leaning her head against the window.  
“Tomorrow we’ll look into this Pastor Nick. I’ll call my friend at the D.A.’s and see if she can expedite a search warrant-“  
“Tomorrow?” interrupted Mikasa, incredulous.   
“Tomorrow.” Levi repeated firmly.

It was 11:30 PM, and Mikasa was standing in her kitchen for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She had been eating all her meals at work, if she had time to eat at all, leaving her kitchen somewhat barren. Mikasa tilted her head to the side, listening to the old grandfather clock she had found at a yard sale mete out the minutes as it ticked away. It was strange feeling, knowing that her clock and her furniture and her fridge had remained the same when she felt so changed, so radically different. Mikasa scrunched up her face and decided to make herself some chamomile tea. It was thoughts like that which prevented her from sleeping soundly, but maybe if she forced herself to relax-took a bubble bath, maybe- she would be able to get some rest.  
The doorbell rang, reverberating throughout the empty house. Mikasa frowned.  
She abandoned her teakettle to cautiously creep towards her front door, curious as to who would be ringing her doorbell so late at night.

It was Levi.

Mikasa was so startled that she yanked open her front door immediately, heedless of the fact that she was wearing nothing but an old, oversize sweatshirt and a pair of black cotton panties. Levi blinked back at her, apparently just as surprised to see her, as she was to see him.

“What?” Mikasa blurted out after a drawn out moment of silent staring. "Did something happen?"

“I was just-“

“In the neighborhood?” Mikasa finished for him, arching her brow in disbelief.

“Yes. No, wait, I was just- I wanted to-fuck.” mumbled Levi, rubbing his jaw.

“You wanted to fuck?” asked Mikasa with a small smile. Sergeant Levi was almost endearing when he was flustered. 

“No!” clarified Levi, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

“Let me start over: can I come in?”

Mikasa nodded, opening the front door wide enough for him to slip past.

“I’m making chamomile tea, if you want some.” Mikasa offered, leading Levi to her kitchen, conscious of her bare legs, of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“You don’t have a lot of furniture,” said Levi by way of response, looking around her apartment.

“Furniture is permanent,” replied Mikasa, grabbing another mug for Levi.

“Married people have nice furniture sets, you know? People who have their shit together have end tables from IKEA.” continued Mikasa. “But I haven’t decided yet.”

“Decided on what, exactly?”

“On anything.” answered Mikasa nonchalantly, hoisting herself up so that she was sitting on the counter next to the stove, her bare legs dangling as she reached for the teakettle. Across the room, Levi winced as he watched.

“Why would you do it like that?” he whispered, horrified at her disregard for safety.  
“To make you nervous,” Mikasa replied without looking up as she poured out two cups of tea. “Now tell me, what did you want so badly that you came all the way over here?”  
Levi took the mug from her and set it aside, gently cupping her chin and pulling her face down so that they were eye-level.  
“I had something important to tell you,” he said, brushing his thumb over her lips.  
“But I can’t really remember what it was.” He continued, pulling her in for a kiss. He tasted like peppermint and he kissed her with something like a fierce hunger. He was like a starving man at a feast, reaching for everything in sight. His lips and hands could find no definite place to settle, and there was no rhythm to his touches. One minute his lips were on hers, fierce and insistent as he nudged her thighs apart, the next he was trailing bruising kisses down her neck as he slid one hand into her panties and the other under her hoodie. His hands were still rain-chilled, still corpse-cold, eliciting a gasp from Mikasa as his fingertips brushed her most sensitive areas. Levi pulled back, the way he had when he first kissed her, only this time he had awoken something far stronger than simpler desire-she needed him, raw and desperate and rain-soaked as he was. His hands had settled decisively on her hips, pulling her close, so that there was no space between their bodies, only blossoming heat and the heaviness of want. He glanced up at her, his piercing eyes begging the question: what do you want?

His hands had settled decisively on her hips, pulling her close, so that there was no space between their bodies, only blossoming heat and the heaviness of want.  
He glanced up at her, his piercing eyes begging the question: what do you want?  
“Upstairs,” Mikasa rasped, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.  
With surprising ease, Levi scooped Mikasa up off of the counter, carrying her upstairs over his shoulder. Mikasa’s bedroom was an attic space that had been converted into a loft, a simple, roughly triangular space with just enough room for a queen-sized bed and a skylight. Levi deposited her on the unmade bed with a surprisingly gentle kiss, before straightening at the foot of her bed as he kicked off his shoes and began to unhurriedly unbutton his shirt. Mikasa followed suit, tugging her old sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in only her black underwear, her bare skin pebbled with goosebumps. Levi, having shed his shirt, began to unbutton his pants, pausing for a brief moment to gaze at the sight before him, flicking his eyes up and down her body, the same way he had when they first met. Mikasa flushed.  
“You’re gorgeous,” Levi mumbled, leaning forward onto the bed and lifting Mikasa by the waist, repositioning their bodies so that she was on her back and he was kneeling between her thighs. Mikasa propped herself up on her elbows, and watched as Levi stroked himself languidly, feeling a spike of heat blossom in her stomach as he brushed his thumb over the tip and shuddered, his eyes half open.  
“…so gorgeous…” he repeated, his voice low and rough, pulling Mikasa’s panties off with his free hand and some maneuvering on Mikasa’s part. Levi planted one hand near Mikasa’s shoulder, balancing his weight as he hooked her leg around his waist, bringing her hips flush with his own, gently tracing patterns on her raised thigh with his thumb, his eyes never leaving her face. They stayed like that for a long moment, drinking one another in, pressed together so intimately that Mikasa couldn’t suppress the blush that colored her cheeks and neck a rosy hue. Mikasa felt electrified, her body filled with the bittersweet ache of anticipation. Levi dipped his head to press a kiss to her collarbone, breaking the stillness and biting back a moan as Mikasa rolled her hips against his erection, her skin hot with impatience and need. Levi seemed to understand what she wanted, pressing her hips down into the mattress and leaving open mouthed kisses all over her throat as he slid his cock between her thighs. Mikasa let out something close to a whimper as he pressed into her slowly, grinding into her core with a deep, achingly slow thrust that flooded her body with white-hot heat.  
“Again,” she gasped out, involuntarily raising her hips to meet his as he repeated the motion, pulling his hips back so that he nearly slipped out, then grinding his hips back into Mikasa with devastating tenderness, again and again and again.  
Mikasa arched her back as a wave of pleasure wracked her body, her thighs trembling and tightening around Levi as he continued to grind into her core relentlessly, never wavering from the tortuously slow rhythm. Mikasa tilted her head back, a plaintive cry escaping her lips each time he angled his hips, his deep thrusts finding sensitive spots Mikasa didn’t know she had. She could feel the pressure, the white-hot heat building up; feel the warmth travel outwards to the tips of her fingers and her toes.  
“Oh,” she gasped, “Levi I’m-“  
“I’ve got you,” murmured Levi, gently cupping her face as he dipped his head to kiss the hollow of her throat. Mikasa wailed, arching her back one final time as her orgasm coursed through her veins like liquid fire.  
“Levi,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist, her vision going momentarily blank as she felt herself come undone.  
Levi made a choked sound as he followed, shuddering, before collapsing beside her.  
Mikasa slowly sat upright, gathering her sheets around her body, feeling self-conscious as she leaned over Levi’s naked, prone form and rummaged around her nightstand with trembling hands, looking for a cigarette, because her lungs were burning and her veins might burst out of her skin and if there was ever a time for a cigarette, it was now.  
Mikasa had barely taken a drag when she felt Levi grab her wrist, and was about to protest when Levi surprised her by bringing the cigarette to his own lips and inhaling.  
“I don’t _believe_ you,” whispered Mikasa, stuck somewhere between being mildly outraged and being transfixed as Levi tipped his head back and exhaled smoke.  
“Only on special occasions,” said Levi with a grin.  
“Ha,” breathed Mikasa, tipping her head back as she took a deep drag. “You can’t give me shit anymore, you know that, right?”  
“Right,” answered Levi, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her exposed hip.


	5. Evergreen

Mikasa had once read somewhere that red was the color of passion. But crimson lips and the hot-blooded pulse in her veins on a Saturday night had never stirred her, never reached more than skin deep. Now, in the pre-dawn hours, as Mikasa held herself as still as possible, her mind was awash with the color blue.

It was in the way the quiet moonlight filtered in from overhead, filling the room with muted color, and in the way his icy-blue veins formed a roadmap on the surface of his skin, a map that Mikasa longed to trace with the tips of her fingers.

He was sleeping beside her, soundly and soundlessly, sprawled on his stomach with one arm tucked under Mikasa’s favorite pillow. He was so perfectly still that when Mikasa had tossed-and-turned herself awake, she had, in a hazy moment of confusion, mistaken him for a corpse-a lingering image from a dream, a leftover illusion. Mikasa brought her knees up to her chest slowly, biting her lip.

She wanted so badly to reach over and brush his hair aside, to trace the stubble on his jaw line with her thumb, to press her palm against his marble skin, but she was afraid that he would somehow crumble at the faintest touch, as if he was made of dust instead of flesh and blood and bone. 

What was stopping her? A simple touch paled in comparison to what they had been doing a few hours ago. Mikasa reached out hesitantly, brushing his collarbone with the tips of her fingers. _His skin is warm,_ Mikasa thought, relaxing for a moment before Levi’s eyes slid open, startling her.

“Sorry-“ she whispered, drawing her hand back.

‘C’mere,” mumbled Levi, his voice rough with sleep as he draped one arm around her waist, pulling her close, so that she was pressed up against his chest.

“I didn’t think you would stay,” Mikasa murmured.

“Where would I go?” Said Levi, still half-asleep, sounding genuinely confused.

 

 

 “Miki, wake up.” Said a warm voice in her ear.

Mikasa lifted her head from the crook of Levi’s arm, glancing at her alarm clock.

  _6:16 AM_

“No,” she said, scooting closer to the warmth emanating from his body. “Too early.”

“Miki, we’ve got work, remember?” said Levi, disentangling himself from the sheets.

Mikasa shivered at the loss of warmth, pushing herself up on her elbows as she drowsily watched Levi move around her room.

“We don’t have to go in until eight,” protested Mikasa, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head and arching her back so that every vertebra popped.

“I know that. I was going to take you to breakfast. If you wanted to go, that is.”

“I want to,” nodded Mikasa.

 

 

The interrogation room had been designed for maximum discomfort-it was a small, colorless room, roughly the size of a jail cell with _just_ enough room for two fold out chairs and a dented old desk. The idea was to make the suspect feel small and powerless, to create a feeling of being trapped between a rock and a hard place.

“…I never saw her after that, I told you before…” insisted Pastor Nick, his voice barely audible through the two-way mirror.

“Niiick. Nicky. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”  Said Levi.

“Now, right now, we have officers executing a search warrant on your teen shelter-you’re, uh, Eden House- and they are _very_ thorough. And they _will_ find everything.”

Mikasa sucked in her breath. There was no search warrant, as Levi’s friend at the District Attorney’s Office had been unable to expedite one based on the admittedly flimsy evidence. Would the lie hold up?

Despite being relatively unreligious, Mikasa had never been able to shake the feeling that those who wore the pastor’s frock were somehow better at separating the truth from fiction. When Pastor Nick remained mute, Levi leaned forward, changing tack.

“I’ll tell you what. This whole thing will go a _lot_ easier if the jury hears your side of the story.”  he offered, clasping his hands together in apparent seriousness.

“I didn’t hurt those girls. I would _never._ I am the good shepherd.”

“What?” said Levi flatly.

“John 10:11: I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”  Recited Pastor Nick, his lower lip trembling a little.

“This _Little Bo Peep_ routine isn’t fooling me, and it sure as shit won’t fool the jury…”

Mikasa ran her hands through her hair twice before pulling it up into a ponytail.

_I should be paying better attention,_ Mikasa realized, leaning her forehead against the glass. Levi had been interviewing Pastor Nick for almost three hours, during which time Mikasa had remained firmly on the other side of the mirror, occasionally thumbing through Pastor Nick’s abbreviated file (no arrests) but mainly taking advantage of the quietness. The interrogation room was far away from the commotion of the squad room, purposefully isolated and dimly lit.

For the first time in weeks, Mikasa felt as though she had time to think.

“Detective Ackerman!” someone whispered, startling Mikasa.

Mikasa turned to see Dr Zoe hovering by the door.

“You don’t have to whisper, Dr. Zoe.” assured Mikasa. “It’s soundproofed.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything important. Is that the guy?”

“We think so.”

“Is he left handed? In my analysis of the bodies, I noticed a slash-pattern consistent with a left-handed perpetrator.” Said Dr. Zoe, narrowing her eyes at Pastor Nick.

“What else did you find?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect. All of the victims are female, falling between the ages of 13-16. All of the victims exhibited signs of drug usage or malnourishment. Five of the girls were killed in 2011, five in 2012, three in 2013 and four were killed sometime this year.” said Dr. Zoe.

“Wait,” said Mikasa, frowning as the victory march that had been playing in her head struck a dissonant note. Pastor Nick had been on a mission trip in Africa for the entire calendar year in 2012. It was in his file. There were pictures.

_He couldn’t have done it._

Mikasa’s heart sank like a stone.

 

“He could have a partner,” Mikasa suggested between spoonfuls of butternut squash soup. They were back at Miriam’s café, having nothing better to do than to eat lunch and commiserate their loss, seeing as they had no choice but to release Pastor Nick.

“Not likely. Do you know how rare it is for serial killers to work together? Besides, Angie Gower never said anything about a second person.” Said Levi, picking at his sandwich forlornly. It was not quiet in the diner. Two uniformed officers had dropped in for a cup of coffee, and were having a loud conversation about the Seattle Seahawks. The jukebox was playing a sad, twangy country song.

“I’m just thinking out loud. You don’t have to shoot down _every_ idea I have.” Said Mikasa, slowly stirring the remnants of her soup. Levi’s eyes widened a little.

“I’m not- I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, M.” he said, reaching for her hand.

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves.” Said Mikasa, drawing her own hand back from his touch with a pointed glance at the two uniformed officers.

Levi glanced over his shoulder in annoyance, curling his fingers into a fist.

“Just because we-“ Mikasa stopped herself short, her face growing hot.

What had she been about to say? _Just because we had sex…?_ It would be childish to pretend like it hadn’t happened, like it hadn’t changed anything between them.

Levi was staring at her with a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite place. Mikasa bit her lip. This was unchartered territory.

 “You don’t have to be extra nice to me all of a sudden,” elaborated Mikasa.

“But I want to,” insisted Levi. “Not because I want to sleep with you again- I mean I _do,_ obviously, but you- I like you.” Said Levi bluntly, running his hand through his hair. “So I’m going to try to be less of an asshole.”

Mikasa smiled. “Keyword being _try_ , right?”

“Right.”

 

 

“I was _wondering_ why you let me drive,” said Mikasa, settling into the driver’s seat.

“I’m putting my life on the line for you here,” answered Levi with a hint of a smile.

“Shut up. I’ve never even been in an accident, so you can’t really say that I’m a bad driver.” Said Mikasa, reaching up to readjust the rearview mirror. She caught a glimpse of her own eyes, as gray as the skies outside, before turning to glance at the back seat. She didn’t drive a squad car anymore, but when she had…

“Hey Levi, can you get in the back? I want to try something.”

Levi raised his eyebrows. “Here? In the middle of the day? You’re making me blush.”

“This is _important_. What happened to not being an asshole?” said Mikasa.

“I never should have told you that,” grumbled Levi, clambering into the backseat.

“How do you feel?” asked Mikasa, peering at Levi through the rearview window.

“Stupid.” Said Levi, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you not seeing what I’m seeing? Imagine that we’re in a patrol car, and there’s a metal barrier between us.” Said Mikasa, twisting in her seat to face him.

“What are you getting at?” asked Levi, leaning forward so that his chin was resting on the back of Mikasa’s seat, bringing his face level with hers.

“What if the killer is a cop?”

“ _Mikasa_ -“

“It makes sense. Why else would he make them sit in the back, if not out of habit?”

“We’re going to need more than that if we accuse one our own.”  Warned Levi.

“Think about it: who else has access to this victim pool? Who else would have the kind of forensic knowledge that Dr. Zoe said the killer has?” said Mikasa.

Levi sat back, contemplative. “I don’t like this, M.”

“Neither do I. But it makes sense.”

“We should let Lieutenant Kaney know,” said Levi after a moment of silence.

 

 

“Where is he?” pondered Levi, shrugging off his windbreaker as he glanced around the squad room. “He’s never _not_ here.”

Mikasa shrugged, too busy watching her coworkers as they moved throughout the building. “Do you think it could be one of them?”

“I think that your theory is _only_ a theory. Don’t freak yourself out.”

“I’m not freaked out, I-“ Mikasa frowned, rummaging through her pockets. “I left my handcuffs in the car. I’ll be right back.”

 

 

“Drive.”

Mikasa’s heart hammered in her chest in a way that reverberated throughout her entire body. Her hands were shaking so much that she swerved into the next lane, nearly sideswiping a minivan before hastily realigning the steering wheel.

“Drive _normally._ ” amended Lieutenant Kaney. “If you draw any attention to us, I’ll blow your brains out.” Mikasa felt the cold barrel of a Smith and Wesson press against the nape of her neck, insistent enough to leave an o-shaped bruise, a sharp reminder of the situation in front of her.

He had been waiting for her, jabbing his pistol between her ribcage as she exited the building, guiding her over to her car.

“How did you know?” Mikasa stammered, utterly confused.

 “I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I overheard you and the runt’s little _conversation_.”

Mikasa’s entire body felt leaden as she tried to readjust her thigh to better cover her radio. Kaney hadn’t seemed to notice it, absorbed as he was by keeping his pistol trained on the back of her head. Mikasa did not consider herself religious, nor was she an optimist of any kind, but as she and Kaney made their way downtown, Mikasa prayed in silence. _Please let someone be listening,_ she thought, over and over.

“Where am I supposed to be going?” Mikasa asked, failing to keep a tremor out of her voice.

“I’ll tell you where to turn.”

Mikasa bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She needed to get him talking.

“It doesn’t have to be like this-“ Mikasa began.

“Don’t start with that bullshit. I took the class on hostage negotiation, too.”

“I was only trying to help.”  said Mikasa, doing her best imitation of sincerity.

“You can’t help me. I have a _sickness…_ ” he hissed, leaning back to get a glimpse of her face, to gauge her reaction. Mikasa tried to keep her face impassive.

“Is that what you want to hear? Will that make it easier?” he continued. “I killed those girls because I liked the look on their faces right before. I liked the way they _begged_.” he said, still watching her face for a reaction.

“You don’t scare me.” Mikasa bit out, weaving around a cyclist with a stiff jerk of the steering wheel.

“You are a bad liar, Detective Ackerman.”

Mikasa swallowed thickly, drifting through downtown Seattle traffic almost on autopilot. It was an eerie feeling, facing certain death while being surrounded by the blissfully unaware-each car and pedestrian she passed absorbed in their own life, busily consumed with nine-to-fives and other mundane, non-violent thoughts.

Although she had eschewed any hope for a clean, stable, _normal_ life in her early adolescence, for a wild moment, Mikasa wished she could swap places with the woman two lanes over in the silver Prius. _I should’ve gotten married,_ Mikasa thought.

“That was a red light you just blew through.” said Kaney stonily.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mikasa stammered, feeling the tears build up behind her eyelids. She was sorry she hadn’t made more friends, sorry that she had ran away from her second foster family, who had never been anything but kind to her, sorry that she had quit playing the violin, sorry that she had never made it to California.

“I didn’t figure you as the weepy type,” said Kaney, his voice sounding detached as he readjusted his grip on his pistol. “Nobody ever turns out how you predict. It’s always the filthiest girls that cry for Jesus. Tell me, Ackerman, who will you cry for?”

Mikasa tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles turning bone white.

_I won’t,_ she thought. _I won’t let him win._

The Fremont Bridge was in the direction they were heading.

_I won’t let him kill me._

Mikasa set her jaw, her mind ringing with sudden clarity.

 All she had to do was make it to the bridge.

It would only take seconds- they would probably both be dead from the impact before their lungs could fill up with water.

And he would never kill another girl.

He would lose.

 

Mikasa hit the brakes with sudden force, causing the car to come to a screeching, shuddering stop. _No,_ she thought despairingly.

“What the hell was that?” hissed Kaney.

“The bridge is up,” said Mikasa.

“Of course the fucking bridge is up. It’s Fremont. It goes up and down more times a day than a pornstar who’s rent is due.” spat Kaney, grabbing a fistful of Mikasa’s hair and yanking her head backwards. “I didn’t tell you to come this way.”

“I w-was confused. You hadn’t g-given me any directions, so I just kept heading straight-“ stuttered Mikasa, terror shooting through her veins.

“Fuck this,” growled Kaney. “Pull over into that lot.”

Mikasa did as she was told, bringing the car into an empty parking lot that filled the space between a warehouse and a wharf.

“Put the car in park.” instructed Kaney, keeping his pistol trained on her temple.

As soon as Mikasa did so, Kaney slithered out of the car, yanking open the driver’s side door with untethered force, his pistol still aimed at her head.

“Out,” he commanded, motioning with his gun. Mikasa clambered out of the car, only to find that her legs could no longer support her weight. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She felt as if her lungs had been crushed, as if she was trying to suck in air through a tiny straw. Kaney was saying something to her.

“What the _fuck_ is this?”

Mikasa tilted her head.  It was hard to hear him over the pounding of her pulse.

In the distance, Mikasa could hear the wail of sirens.

“What the fuck did you do? You called for _help_?” he was waving something over his head. Something small and plastic.

The radio, Mikasa remembered dimly.

“Get up.”  He demanded, yanking her up by a fistful of her hair when her limbs wouldn’t comply, dragging her over to the edge of the wharf. He hooked his arm around her throat, jabbing the barrel of the Smith and Wesson into the hollow of her neck with no small degree of force. Mikasa tasted blood.

“If you shoot me now, you won’t get out of here alive-“ gasped out Mikasa.

“I am many things, Detective Ackerman, but I am not stupid.” Said Kaney.

“I’m not getting out alive.”  he added, seemingly to himself as several patrol cars poured into the parking lot, lights flashing and sirens screaming. Mikasa twisted in his grip as uniformed officers formed a semi-circle, flanked by flung-open bulletproof car doors. She tried to catch the eyes of one of them, to silently will one of them to _take the shot_ , only to find her eyes landing on a familiar figure.

“Levi!” she gasped out.

He was standing parallel to Kaney, wearing a navy blue bulletproof vest and the most venomous face Mikasa had ever seen on a living creature.

“Don’t come any closer.”  Warned Kaney, taking a sharp step backwards and nearly plunging into the harbor. Mikasa pulled her body forward as much as she could, trying to break away from the line of fire.

“Nowhere left to run, Kaney.”  said Levi, training his Glock 9 on his target.

_Take the shot,_ Mikasa mouthed, catching Levi’s impenetrable gaze.

There was a deafening bang, a sound that Mikasa was intimately familiar with- the sound of a gunshot crackling through the air, and Mikasa was pulled back into the briny water, thrashing and twisting away from the dead man’s vice grip.

Mikasa kicked her way upwards, gasping for air as she broke the surface, choking on poisoned water in her lungs.

 

Everything after was a blur.

After multiple verbal confirmations that she was _not_ hurt, Mikasa acquiesced and allowed Levi to wrap an orange shock blanket around her bedraggled shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re not-“

Mikasa shook her head, sending water droplets in every direction.

“Will you take me home? I want to take a shower.” Said Mikasa blankly.

Levi nodded, guiding Mikasa to his Honda. Mikasa slumped into her seat, suddenly too tired to do anything other than what amounted to fumbling with her seatbelt.

Thankfully Levi noticed her struggle and leaned over to do it for her.

 

By the time the reached her house, Mikasa felt like sleeping for a thousand years.

Her limbs were so heavy, and her head was aching. If it weren’t for the fact that she desperately needed to rinse the sludgy feeling of being pulled underwater, of _drowning,_ Mikasa would have been content to fall asleep face down on the lawn.

Levi half-carried Mikasa inside, muttering something about her leaving the door unlocked. Mikasa didn’t have the energy to respond. More immediate was her concern with getting clean, on washing away the feeling of Kaney’s fingers in her hair, around her throat. Mikasa kicked her shoes off with what felt like an enormous effort.

“…Want me to help?” asked Levi softly.

Mikasa nodded vehemently, grabbing his shoulders to steady herself.

Levi led her to the first floor bathroom by the wrist, quickly turning on the shower before helping Mikasa peel away the layers of waterlogged clothes, his steady hands doing what Mikasa’s trembling ones couldn’t.

Finally- _finally-_ Mikasa stood underneath the warm water, her legs trembling with the effort of keeping her body upright. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed her skin until it was pink before clambering out and wrapping herself in a cotton towel.

Levi was waiting in her living room. Mikasa could hear her clothes rattling around in her washing machine, and the faint sound of her neighbor’s television through the thin walls.

“What do you need me to do?” Asked Levi.

“Stay for a little while?” asked Mikasa quietly.

“Okay.”


End file.
